Masters of Menace: A Biker Erotic Romance Read Online Free Page B

thick black hair. “But I’ve always had a bad boy fantasy.”
     
    He chuckled huskily, his hand going to the buttons of my shirt. “I’m not a bad boy.”
     
    I swatted his hand away, drawing my fingers down his chest to the waistband of his jeans. “You smell like one.”
     
    “What does that even mean?” he asked, but I answered him with a kiss. His mouth tasted like heat and excitement and anticipation, his body pressed up against mine—warm, solid, masculine. Suddenly I could feel his hands on my bare thighs, moving up my body, over my shirt, almost completely encircling my waist.
     
    I broke away from the kiss and unbuttoned another button on my shirt, and another, and then his hands were there, impatient, intruding, but entirely welcome. Before I could react fully my shirt was across the room and his lips were back on mine, his hands running up and down my back.
     
    Somehow, entangled like this—despite everything else, despite everything believed—somehow this felt more right than all my research, all my writing, all my years of grief and agony and worry. Those seemed to completely wash away as his lips moved away from my mouth and down my neck, sending shivers down my spine. I began using my hands again and started undoing his belt and jeans, searching.
     
    Before I could find what I was looking for, he picked me up like I weighed nothing. I squealed in surprise and he carried me back into the bedroom and we fell on to the bed, me underneath him. He ripped off his jeans and I was finally able to appreciate his entirely naked body. He was gorgeous; there was no other word to describe him.
     
    Then he was kissing me, kissing every part of me. My back arched as my arousal grew. “Michael,” I moaned, begging for more. He grinned at me wickedly and slowed his passionate exploration of my body.
     
    I whimpered as he gently fondled, caressed, and touched me, finding every part of my body—even the parts I was ashamed of—and loving them. I had never felt more valued, more loved, more special, especially since Dad had died. In his hands I was worth more than I had ever been and I never wanted the sensation to end.
     
    He pulled my wet panties off my hips and slowly slid them down my thighs. Impatient, I used my foot to flick them off and throw them to the floor. I shuddered in pleasure as he redirected his attention toward my lower half. Before I even knew what was going on we were rocking together, our bodies moving as one, pushing and pulling against each other, as natural as the tides or the movements of the sun across the sky. Our hands found one other and our fingers intertwined, such a youthful and innocent grip in this moment of passion and release.
     
    Eventually our movements slowed and stopped, our breath coming fast and heavy as we try to catch it, our fingers still wrapped around each other’s. He smiles at me and I smile back and then laugh, turning away, almost embarrassed. He kissed me again, slowly, tenderly, gently, as he does everything.
     
    In the morning I lay sprawled on the bed, his arm still around me. He was awake and I turned smiled up at him and snuggled against his chest, our bare skin warm together. “Hi.”
     
    “Hello.”
     
    “This is nice,” I said.
     
    He nodded. “Yeah…”
     
    “What’s wrong?” I asked, raising myself up on to my elbow.
     
    “It’s just… how can I go back to the CCA now?”
     
    I scowled and turned away from him. “Fuck them.”
     
    “Like I fucked you?” he said playfully, putting his arms around my waist and kissing the spot where my neck and shoulder met.
     
    I shivered in delight. “No, not like that. Although that would be interesting.”
     
    He laughed into my skin. “Yes, I suppose it would. I doubt I would enjoy it as much.”
     
    “Well that’s reassuring, I suppose.” I turned back to face him. “Why does it matter so much?”
     
    “Because what else do they have? What else do I have?”
     
    Our romance